


Freedom for Anders

by glitterandgin



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Kink Meme, M/M, inappropriate chantry behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:38:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandgin/pseuds/glitterandgin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the kinkmeme prompt: The Warden decides keeping Anders around is going to be trouble in the long run so she/he just hands him over to the Templars in Amaranthine. Nate is not pleased with that and he sides with Anders. And then they ride off into the sunset~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“Fair enough. Take him and go.”_

The words continued to cycle through Anders’ head as he sprinted and stumbled over twigs and rocks in the surrounding forest, betrayal and breathlessness stinging in his throat as he pulled breath after shallow breath in through his nose, gasping with each pace away from Amaranthine. Just slightly ahead of him, Nathaniel tripped over a root and fell into a tree, huffing as he pushed himself off of it. Anders waited until Nathaniel had brushed the bark off his hands and regained his balance to resume running, following path after path in the forest until he was unsure of whether they’d come any closer to the edge of the forest in their desperate attempts to put as much distance between them and the warehouse as possible.

_“Fair enough. Take him and go.”_

The words burned like bile in his mind and throat as he followed Nathaniel into the thick of the forest, where light made only tentative attempts at trickling through the canopy. He couldn’t believe the Commander would--he couldn’t believe he’d thought things would be different in the Wardens. What had made him think someone would be willing to take a chance on him? He’d brought nothing but trouble to the Wardens; of course the Commander would get rid of him at the first chance he’d had. He should never have expected anything different. His eyes stung with betrayal and despair, his vision going blurry until he ran into Nathaniel, who had stopped just in front of him. He wiped his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

“We can stop here,” Nathaniel said, sounding only slightly winded. “I think we’ve lost them for now.”

Anders nodded, sinking down onto his knees. “What was that? Back there, I mean.”

“A smoke bomb,” Nathaniel said, taking off his pack and digging through it until he’d found his tent.

“I knew that,” Anders said, still fighting to keep his breaths even. If he couldn’t manage that, he’d panic, and they’d both be in trouble. He needed to keep a level head, to prove that Nathaniel hadn’t made a mistake in saving him. “Why did you do it?”

Nathaniel began setting up the tent and said, “You should get set up for the night. We can’t afford to stay here long, and you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

Anders nodded and pulled the components out of his pack with shaking hands, trying and failing to keep steady enough to build his tent. After several failed attempts, Nathaniel came over and helped him.

Anders smiled, the expression thin from emotional and physical exhaustion. “Thanks.”

Nathaniel smiled and returned to his tent. As Anders climbed into his bedroll and curled up onto his side, he could almost ignore the Commander’s words to Rylock circling through his head. 


	2. Chapter 2

They stopped in a small village--just several thatch-roofed homes, a pub, and a chantry, really--on the south end of the forest, where they were struck by the painful knowledge that they barely had enough funds and supplies to last them the week.

Nathaniel counted their coins for the fifth time in a row as though they would increase if he counted them enough. He sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s a spell for conjuring gold.”

Anders grimaced, shrugged, and said, “If there were, mages might be treated better.”

Nathaniel frowned. “The Chanter’s board is empty. Perhaps the chantry could--”

“Turn over a rogue apostate when he asks for shelter?” Anders said, shaking his head. “It’s too risky.”

“Camping out in the woods is too risky. The chantry will offer sanctuary, and not even the templars can overrule that,” Nathaniel said, taking Anders’ hand and releasing it almost immediately. “If you can maintain a low profile, we should be safe here.”

Anders nodded, feeling a weak smile start to form on his lips. “Right. I’ll be perfectly inconspicuous in my robes and while carrying a large, magical stick. I appreciate what you’re doing, but I think I can figure things out from here on.”

“I’m sure you can,” Nathaniel said, taking Anders’ hand once again. “But you can’t argue that it’s safer this way.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “I suppose the fact that you’ve basically ensured you can never return to the Wardens has nothing to do with this?”

Nathaniel frowned, squeezing Anders’ hand so lightly he could barely feel the difference. “Let’s see if the chantry will take us in.”

Anders didn’t try to remove his hand from Nathaniel’s as they crossed through the village and entered the chantry, which was clearly the recipient of the majority of the town’s funds. Marble statues, small but undeniably expensive, guarded the entrance, and a meticulously polished stained glass portrait of Andraste and a mabari on the pyre adorned the western wall.

The Revered Mother raised her eyebrows as they entered hand in hand. In a voice like tea that had gone cold, “How may I help you, dear children?”

Nathaniel squeezed Anders’ hand again and said, “We seek sanctuary. We can help with the chores, and--”

The Revered Mother raised her hand. “Say no more, child. There is adequate room in the chantry for two travellers, and we would be remiss to turn away those in need.”

Nathaniel gave a slight bow, and Anders found himself dragged along for the ride. “Thank you, Revered Mother.”

They followed her to a backroom that held several cots and blankets. At night, it would be lit by a single brazier in the centre of the room, and the blankets were old but clearly well-cared for. Nathaniel and Anders put their packs on adjoining cots and thanked the Revered Mother once again. Once she’d left, Anders took both of Nathaniel’s hands.

“Thank you,” he said, wishing there were stronger words to convey the magnitude of his gratitude.

Nathaniel gave a small, strange smile. “Of course.”

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, shaking his head and refusing to release Nathaniel’s hands. He took a step closer. “You could have had a new life in the Wardens. You could have let them take me away. You’re going through a lot of trouble for, well… me. Why did you do it?”

Nathaniel slipped his hand out of Anders’ and gently cupped his cheek, leaning forward before backing up into the cot suddenly. He shook his head and muttered, “You deserve better than that.”

They didn’t discuss the incident at dinner that night, though Anders imagined his cheek was still warm from where Nathaniel had touched it. When they’d finished their meal and returned to their chambers, Anders said, “You deserve better, too.”

“Oh?” Nathaniel said, peering over Anders’ shoulder as he dug through his pack.

“Mmhm,” he said, shielding his pack from Nathaniel’s gaze. He produced a dusty bottle and said, “Which is why we’re going to share this!”

Nathaniel blinked and raised an eyebrow. “You want us to get drunk. In a chantry.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Almost anything else’ comes to mind,” Nathaniel said, continuing to stare at the bottle of Seer’s Old Bitxia.

Anders grinned and drew his arms in close to his chest as though he were about to pray in earnest with the alcohol as a holy relic. “Come on. One night of fun won’t kill you.”

“The chantry Mother might,” he said without any real conviction. He shook his head. “Fine. Do you have glasses?”

“I haven’t got Nug Pox or whatever diseases they’re saying mages have these days,” Anders said, feigning tetchiness. “I didn’t think to grab any while I was liberating alcohol from the darkspawn. We can wipe it off between sips.”

Nathaniel gestured for Anders to take a seat next to him on his cot. The cot creaked as he did so, but remained upright and intact.

Anders unstoppered the bottle and took a hefty swig, which threatened to come up through his nose the moment it reached the back of his throat. If he hadn’t believed that alcohol came from fermenting beverages before, he did now. This was wine’s older, nastier cousin with a penchant for illegal herbs and mugging people in dark alleys.

“I think,” Anders said, coughing. “I think I just retook my Joining.”

Nathaniel pulled the bottle from Anders’ hands, not bothering to wipe it off before he took a tentative sip. He winced and sputtered. “My toes have gone numb.”

Anders snorted and took the bottle from him. After his second drink, “It kind of grows on you, actually.”

“It’s not the only thing,” Nathaniel said under his breath. He gestured for the bottle.

“Why’d you save me?” Anders said after they were both properly sloshed. At some point in their drinking session, he’d scooted over so his and Nathaniel’s shoulders were touching, and Nathaniel hadn’t moved away.

He shrugged, looking at the ground. “I told you already.”

Anders rolled his eyes and nudged Nathaniel until he looked at him. “All right. Assuming I believe your story about me deserving better, why’d you come with me?”

Nathaniel kept his gaze fixed on Anders’ face and licked his lips. After what appeared to be a short but intense mental battle, he cupped Anders’ cheek and kissed him. Before Anders could properly react, he’d pulled away, shaking his head.

Anders took his hand with a smile. “Can’t fault your logic.”

And then he kissed Nathaniel, knocking over the bottle as they sank down onto the bed and into kisses that seemed to take place halfway in the Fade for how soft and hazy they were. They fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms. 


	3. Chapter 3

Anders snuggled closer into the embrace without opening his eyes to see who he’d wound up cuddling this time. A headache twinged at the edges of his awareness like a thunderstorm building on the horizon, but he could get away with ignoring it for a few more minutes until it worsened.

The hand on his back clutched his robes tighter as he ground against the body in front of him, and lips pressed against his neck, breathing warm and even as he tangled one of his hands in hair. The headache pressed closer against his brain, and he slowly opened his eyes.

Nathaniel inhaled deeply and began to move away, stopping when he was centimetres away from falling onto the chantry’s stone floor. He’d succeeded in creating a gap of mere inches between them. He cleared his throat and said, “Good morning, Anders.”

“Are you feeling all right?” he said, slowly removing his hand from Nathaniel’s hair and wincing apologetically when his hand got caught in a tangle.

Nathaniel managed to sit up without falling off of the cot, keeping his hands folded in his lap once he’d done so. “My head’s been in better shape.”

Anders sat up, placing a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder and holding the other one out as if offering an invisible good. “Want me to take care of that?”

Nathaniel looked over at Anders, their faces separated by the smallest of movements. One of them just needed to lean forward a bit, and then… Nathaniel nodded, and Anders kissed him, sending a wave of healing magic through the physical contact. Nathaniel gasped, wrapping his arms around Anders and half-pulling him into his lap.

Anders pulled back, smiling. “All better?”

Nathaniel ran a thumb over Anders’ lower lip and raised his eyebrows. “I get the feeling they didn’t teach that in the tower.”

“Depends on who you talk to.” He licked his lips the second Nathaniel had moved his thumb. “Do you think there’s anything to do in this town?”

As it turned out, the town’s only real source of entertainment was found in either watching the cabbages grow and placing bets on which one would be the largest, or loitering in the local pub. After twenty minutes of staring at produce, Nathaniel and Anders decided to see what the pub had to offer.

For the first few minutes, the answer appeared to be “stale ale that had probably blinded people before and the slight smell of wet potatoes”. This was soon changed by the arrival of someone who could, for the sake of logic and sanity, only be a bard.

She dressed as though she’d only just learned that it was possible to wear more than one colour at a time, and had thus decided to wear them all at once. Even her lute was painted like a circus tent, complete with streamers dangling from the tuning keys. Anders half-expected a trained monkey to emerge from underneath her hoop skirt. She took a seat by the bar and strummed her lute several times before saying, “Who here would like to hear a tale of a murder most horrible?”

There was a general chorus of affirmation, followed by a cough so polished that the bard had to have practiced it in the mirror. It was a cough to quell riots, not to clear throats.

The bard strummed her lute three more times before saying, “Our tale begins in sunny Denerim, home of the King--”

“Hurrah!” cried one of the more inebriated patrons. “Hurrah for the King! May he live a long life full of lusty wenches and ferocious dragons! To lusty dragons and ferocious wenches! Hurrah for the--”

“This story is not about the King,” the bard snapped. “This story takes place before his crowning, when the Blight had just begun to crawl through Ferelden… a different, more insidious evil was slinking through Denerim, wearing the face of a noble. That noble was… Arl Rendon Howe!”

“Boo!” multiple patrons yelled at once. The King’s biggest fan added, “Down with Howe! Down with his spawn! May they rot alive! I wish I could find them now, so I could gut them myself! I’d leave them for the crows, and that would be too kind!”

Anders glanced over at Nathaniel. His lips were pressed into a tight, white line, and his clenched fists shook in his lap. Anders took his hand, gently massaging the tightness out of his knuckles. “Maybe we should go back to the chantry.”

Nathaniel nodded, mouth still tense. Nobody noticed as they left the pub.

The town, its inhabitants being equally divided between watching cabbages and shouting in the tavern, was almost unsettlingly quiet as they walked back to the chantry.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Nathaniel said to the dirt road. “Not after what Delilah told me.”

“It still hurts,” Anders said, stroking the webbing between Nathaniel’s thumb and index finger with his thumb. “Even if you’re prepared for it, it still hurts. You catch yourself hoping that maybe this time someone will be on your side, but you know it won’t happen. But that brief moment of hope, that second before someone suggests burning you as an example, is the best and worst part of it.”

“You’re talking about mages,” Nathaniel said, still staring at the ground.

Anders laughed mirthlessly. “Am I that obvious? I know you hate the comparison, but--”

Nathaniel shook his head. His voice was curiously emotionless as he said, “We can continue that debate later. For now, I just want to sit somewhere free of bards and vegetables.”

Anders squeezed his hand. “That shouldn’t be hard to find.”

When they got to the chantry, Nathaniel curled up on his bed in perfect silence and stillness until supper was announced. Anders watched him eat; he performed each motion as though he were moving through a wall of custard. When the meal had finished, he returned to his bed.

“Nate?”

There was no response.

Anders stood and walked the five steps to Nathaniel’s bed. He tapped his shoulder tentatively; Nathaniel barely reacted. With a shrug, Anders climbed into bed and began stroking Nathaniel’s hair. After a few seconds, Nathaniel turned over to face him. Anders stroked his cheek, smiling when Nathaniel’s lips twitched upwards for half a second.

Anders kissed him, just the barest pressure of lips upon lips. “If you’re feeling better later, I have an idea.”


	4. Chapter 4

“You want to have sex. In a chantry,” Nathaniel said. His left eyebrow had been raised since Anders had proposed the idea. If it stayed like that any longer, his facial muscles would probably cramp.

Anders scratched his head, smiling. “It’s not the worst idea I’ve had.”

“Dear Maker.”

“Hey, I completely understand if you don’t want to have sex now. Or ever. It was just an idea,” Anders said, taking Nathaniel’s hands and squeezing them. “I’ll be on my cot, if you need me.”

He turned to leave, but Nathaniel grabbed his shoulder, nudging him so they were face to face once again. He seemed to debate something for a second before coming to a conclusion and pulling Anders into a kiss.

Anders pulled back just long enough to grin before kissing him with renewed gusto, pushing his hands under Nathaniel’s shirt and digging his nails into the skin beneath them when Nathaniel ground against him. Nathaniel began fiddling with the ties of Anders’ robes, but Anders stopped him.

“Not here,” he said, his slight breathlessness exacerbated by Nathaniel’s decision to start kissing his neck. His breath hitched when Nathaniel began sucking at the spot just below his Adam’s apple. “I have another idea. A fantasy, if you will.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Anders couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were still fixated on his neck.

He took Nathaniel’s hand and began tugging him out of the room. He stopped when they were in front of the altar.

The chantry sisters had placed fresh candles around the statue of Andraste that stood behind the altar, and they cast a soft, flickering light on Nathaniel, almost making it seem as though he was being formed from the surrounding darkness. The lavender and rosemary incense that burned at the base of the statue sent up plumes of heavy smoke that curled lazily through the air, soaking into their hair and clothes.

“You’re going to get us run out of town,” Nathaniel hissed, though he took a step closer and put his hands on Anders’ hips.

“It’s nearly midnight. Everyone’s asleep. We’ll clean up when we’re done; nobody will know what happened,” Anders said, kissing the corner of Nathaniel’s mouth.

Nathaniel kissed him, pulling the tie out of his hair. “What, exactly, is your plan?”

Anders slowly walked Nathaniel to the altar. When they reached it, he stopped, turned around, and in a smooth, almost ballet-like motion, bent over the altar.

Nathaniel bent over him, running a hand up and down his side. He pushed the skirts of Anders’ robes up and said, “We’ll need--”

Anders took his free hand, kissed it, and conjured a grease spell. “Do you think I’ll get in trouble for using magic in a chantry?”

Nathaniel scoffed and pressed a finger inside of Anders, stroking his hip with the thumb of his free hand.

They moved like each action was a prayer, each thrust more holy than any of the canticles. Anders was faintly aware of paper crumpling in his hands as he pushed back against Nathaniel, but that information was shoved aside in favour of focussing on the scrape of Nathaniel’s teeth on his neck and jaw. He gasped his release and slumped onto the altar, ruined pages sticking to his chest as Nathaniel followed swiftly after him.

Anders tucked a piece of hair behind his ear and said, “And look, no Revered Mother swooping down on us. I told you this wasn’t my worst idea.”

Nathaniel shook his head, smiling slightly. “Let’s clean this up before we start rating your ideas.”

Once they’d got the altar back to a state of relative orderliness, they tiptoed back to their room. Without discussing it, they climbed into the same cot and fell asleep.

Nathaniel was already awake when he woke the next morning, but his expression of dismay and slight nausea discouraged any attempts at a “good morning” kiss. Anders looked to his left and gulped. There, in perfectly pressed silk Chantry robes and barely contained rage, stood the Revered Mother.

“I heard you at the altar last night,” she said, and the way she said it made it clear that they were already condemned. “Would you care to explain yourselves?”

Nathaniel and Anders exchanged a brief, panicked glance. Anders said, “We were praying, Revered Mother. People do that in chantries.”

“At midnight.”

“Surely the Maker listens to his children at all hours,” Anders said, and he almost found himself believing his lie.

“Odd,” she said, studying them. “I don’t recall there being a verse in the Chant of Light containing the words ‘Nate’ and ‘fuck.’”

“Ah,” Anders said, the blood draining from his face. “That was--”

“A mistake,” she said. “A mistake you won’t repeat. Pack your belongings. I expect you out of town by noon.”

She turned on her heel as smoothly and mechanically as an automaton and marched out of the room, leaving them in a state of shock and mild embarrassment.

They were out of town and on the road thirty minutes later.


	5. Chapter 5

“He might take you back. The Commander, I mean,” Anders said as they departed from the dust path to enter a forest. Dusk hovered on the horizon, and with it came the threat of highwaymen in addition to Rylock and her templars. If they stayed hidden from the path, there was the small chance that any pursuers would get lost in the woods before stumbling upon them.

“What makes you think I want that?” Nathaniel said, taking his hand and tugging him into a small clearing.

“Why wouldn’t you? It has to beat being on the run for the rest of your life,” he said, dropping his pack on the ground while Nathaniel gathered twigs for the fire.

“What if we didn’t have to be?”

Anders stared at Nathaniel for approximately five seconds before managing to say, “What?”

“You were talking with the Commander about your phylactery. What if we actually found it this time? Would you be free then?” Nathaniel said without looking away from the small fire.

“I… I would, yes,” Anders said, walking to Nathaniel’s side. He crouched down, and with levity he didn’t feel said, “But you’ve probably noticed that this particular endeavour hasn’t worked out too well for me. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Nathaniel looked at Anders, and for a second he wondered if Nathaniel had confused him with someone of consequence. He looked at Anders like he was his favourite passage in a book and said, “I’m certain.”

Anders cleared his throat and turned to the fire, hoping that Nathaniel would attribute the redness of his cheeks to his proximity to the fire. “I don’t know what I did to inspire this sort of… well, this, but thank you. I’ll try not to disappoint you too much,” he said with a laugh.

Nathaniel simply stoked the fire in silence.

That night, as they lay curled together in Nathaniel’s bedroll, Anders could have sworn he heard Nathaniel whisper, “I think I love you.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

If Nathaniel had truly confessed his love the previous night, the words melted away like morning frost at the first sign of sunlight. It was just as well, Anders thought, since it spared him the trouble of figuring out a proper reaction. Nathaniel was wonderful, and he’d saved him from an undoubtedly horrific fate at the hands of templars, of course, but did he love him?

“Do you know where your phylactery could be?” Nathaniel said, idly stroking Anders’ hair. Despite having been awake for almost ten minutes, they’d decided to lay in the bedroll for a little while longer.

Anders snuggled closer to Nathaniel, smiling a little when Nathaniel hummed in contentment. He closed his eyes and said, “Namaya was the only source of information I had. If she didn’t know, then I have no idea where we’d go to find it. Unless… it’s a long shot, but they might have sent the phylacteries back to the tower.”

Nathaniel stopped playing with Anders’ hair and said, “You want to go back to the _tower_ to see if they have your phylactery?”

“It’s the only idea I have,” Anders said, turning to face Nathaniel. He smiled wryly and said, “Saves time, too. If we fail, they won’t have to march me all over Ferelden.”

Nathaniel continued to look dubious until Anders kissed the corners of his lips, which then twitched upwards seemingly involuntarily. He shifted and pulled Anders so he was partially on top of him, rubbing circles into the small of his back.  Anders moved to straddle Nathaniel completely, grinding against him as he did so. Nathaniel gripped his hips like they were the last solid thing left in Thedas.

Anders bit his lip, grinding against Nathaniel again. It almost felt wrong, considering what Nathaniel had whispered last night. But, a more vocal part of his brain argued, wouldn’t it be better to make the most of his time before the inevitable Feelings Discussion? While he’d been engaged in an internal debate, Nathaniel had begun to stroke the inside of his thighs, the faintest scratch of nails on sensitive flesh. Anders gasped and made his decision.

He took Nathaniel’s hand and cast a grease spell before guiding it between his legs. Unlike their tryst in the chantry, Nathaniel took his time, stilling Anders whenever he attempted to increase the pace. Anders tried to sink down onto Nathaniel’s dick when he’d removed his fingers, but Nathaniel put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Let’s switch positions,” he said, gently guiding Anders off of him and onto his back until Nathaniel was above him. Anders felt like a butterfly pinned under his gaze as he smiled down at him.

Nathaniel began kissing his way down Anders’ neck and arms, sucking at the pulse points at his wrists before directing his attention to Anders’ chest. He’d begun sucking and nipping at the dip near his hipbone when Anders whispered “stop.”

Anders took a shaky breath and said, “Let’s-let’s get on with it, yeah?”

A fleeting shadow of hurt and curiosity passed over Nathaniel’s face, but he said, “Very well.”

Despite Anders’ request that Nathaniel speed things up, he moved like the tide, taking the time to brush stray hairs out of Anders’ face and kiss him. Gradually, Anders found himself revelling in the gentle touches, and he could almost forget Nathaniel’s whispered confession. When he came, he found himself wanting nothing more than to spend the rest of his life in Nathaniel’s arms.

Nathaniel kissed him once more before rolling off of him, pulling Anders into his arms as he did so.

The memory of Nathaniel’s words struck him like a blow to the gut. Anders cleared his throat and said, “I heard you last night. When you said you loved me.”

Nathaniel stopped kissing his neck and said, “Oh?”, the response excessively nonchalant.

Anders swallowed and said, “I appreciate the sentiment, but don’t you think it’s a little soon? Maybe we should take our time with this.”

“Of course,” Nathaniel said, his tone carefully neutral.

“We can still--”

“I’m going to wash off. Can we talk about this later?”

Before Anders could answer, Nathaniel was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

They packed up their belongings shortly after, the silence that hung between them heavier than any of their supplies. As they walked through the forest, Anders found his attention drawn again and again to the miniscule distance between their hands. For reasons he didn’t understand and didn’t care to attempt to parse out, he ached to reach out and hold Nathaniel’s hand as though their conversation in the tent had never taken place. 

“Nate,” he said, stopping and grabbing his wrist before he could add that particular mistake to his already long list. Nathaniel’s posture stiffened at the sound of his name. “I understand if you don’t want to travel with me anymore. It’ll be a lot of trouble, probably more than you bargained for and definitely more than I’m worth.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Nathaniel said, so softly that Anders almost wondered if he’d imagined it. 

Anders swallowed and shook his head. 

“Then we’re in agreement.” 

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to--”

Nathaniel took his hands, and Anders’ heart leapt into his throat. “Do you trust me?”

Anders furrowed his brow. “Of course, but--”

“Then trust me to make my own decisions. I’m staying with you,” Nathaniel said, squeezing his hands once before releasing them. 

“Thank you. I--thank you,” he said, his chest clenching until he thought his ribs would crack. He wanted to lean forward and brush his lips against Nathaniel’s, but he had no idea how Nathaniel would react in light of their previous conversation. He squared his shoulders as if in an attempt to shrug the desire away and said, “Might as well get going, right? The templars are probably bored out of their minds without us.”

Nathaniel’s lips twitched upwards as he said, “We can’t have that. Lead the way.”

They’d walked in silence that was, if not quite comfortable, then at least bearable, for several minutes before Nathaniel said, “Please tell me you have a plan for infiltrating the tower.”

Anders fiddled with the cuff of one of his gauntlets. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘plan’, exactly. It’s more like a general idea.”

Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s a very  _ detailed _ general idea, if that helps,” Anders added, smiling so tensely that he was certain his face would crack any second now. “A rough draft, if you will.”

Nathaniel sighed. “And what does this rough draft entail, exactly?”

“I’m going to attract the attention of the guards, and when they’re distracted, you’ll strike! We change into their armour, get my phylactery, and nobody’s the wiser,” he said, flourishing his hand like a stage magician attempting to distract from the details of his prestidigitations. 

“That’s your plan,” Nathaniel said, his tone as flat and blank as a sheet of new vellum. 

“Well. Yes.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “It’s all we’ve got, so it’ll have to do. We have a few days to iron out the details, specifically the ones that involve us not dying a painful death at the hands of every templar in Kinloch Hold.”

That night, after erecting one of their tents, Nathaniel and Anders stood outside of it in silence. 

“It’d be a lot of work to put up my tent,” Anders said, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at Nathaniel.

“Then I’d suggest we start now,” Nathaniel said, turning away from him. 

“Right,” Anders said quietly, pulling the tent components out of his pack. They built the tent in perfect silence, taking care to avoid even the briefest moment of physical contact. By the time they’d hammered in the last peg, Anders’ lungs had twisted themselves into an impossible knot that only tightened each time he saw Nathaniel move out of the corner of his eye.

He only got about thirty minutes of sleep that night. His bedroll was too cold, and he couldn’t find a comfortable position to lay in.

Nathaniel looked as haggard as Anders felt when they packed up their campsite the next morning. Perhaps their combined exhaustion was to blame for the fact that, not two hours later, they found themselves stumbling directly into a templar encampment. 

The two parties stared at each other in disbelief for a minute before Anders spun on his heel, grabbing Nathaniel by the elbow and dragging him away. They’d covered almost four feet of distance before the templars caught up to them. 

Instinctively, Anders twisted to face the templars and conjured a wall of ice, freezing half of them mid-sprint. It looked like they might stand a chance of escaping when a templar leapt forward, swinging his sword and catching Nathaniel under the ribs. He staggered and nearly collapsed, Anders slowing to a stop and holding up his free hand in a placating gesture to the templar as he attempted to stem the flow of blood with his other. “Wait!”

Nathaniel winced and tried to push Anders forward, gasping when the action changed the amount of pressure on his wound. “Anders, go.”

Anders ignored him and spoke directly to the templar. “I’ll go with you.”

“Anders,” Nathaniel said, his voice weaker. 

“I’ll go with you,” he repeated, his stomach churning with every syllable. “I won’t fight you; I won’t even talk. Just let me heal him first.”

The templar lowered his blade ever so slightly, his expression still sharp with suspicion. “Do it quickly, robe.”

Anders nodded and turned to face Nathaniel. He blinked, swallowed the lump of anxiety and regret that had formed in his throat during their run, and kissed him. As they kissed, he poured every drop of his remaining mana into Nathaniel, closing the gash and repairing any internal damage. By the time he stepped back, he was lightheaded and the edges of his vision had gone black. 

Nathaniel took his hands, his expression more pained than when Anders had been healing him. “You could have run. Why didn’t you run?”

Anders tried to smile, though his lips were cold and he felt seconds away from fainting. “Because I love you.”

The templar surged forward and grabbed Anders by the bicep, practically tugging his arm out of its socket when his knees buckled. As the templar’s comrades freed themselves from the ice and began marching him away, Anders saw Nathaniel sink to the ground, shaking his head slowly and covering his face.


	8. Chapter 8

“Did you really mean it?” 

Anders shifted slightly, unsure of whether or not he should engage the templar in conversation. They’d made camp for the night, and he lay just off to the side but within view of the templars with his arms and legs bound in a display of how much his captors trusted his word. Behind him, metal clinked, the noise gradually growing louder as the templar approached him. He stiffened automatically as a gauntleted hand rested on his shoulder.

The templar shook him gently until he shifted onto his other side, the process hampered slightly by the truly excessive amount of rope they’d wound around his calves and forearms. He stared up at the templar, wishing he could stir up enough anger for it to be visible on his face, but it was like he’d poured all his emotions into Nathaniel while he was healing him. All he could manage was tired sorrow. 

“My watch is almost over, and then one of the others will take over. We don’t have much time, so I need to know--did you really mean it? When you said you love him, did you really mean it?”

Anders opened his mouth, but speech ranked somewhere near flight in the list of things he was physically capable of doing at that moment. He nodded his head, pressing his lips into a tight line as a small, sad noise escaped his throat. 

The templar’s expression, serious to begin with, could have rivaled a cemetery in graveness. He drew a dagger from its sheath on his belt and said, “Stay still.”

Anders stared at a point just above the templar’s left shoulder as he sawed away at the ropes. When he’d cut away the last of them, Anders slowly sat up, watching the knife and half expecting it to end up buried in his abdomen. The templar helped him to his feet and said, “Go, quickly. I’ll think of a cover for you.”

“Thank you,” Anders said, just barely managing to squeeze the words out of his throat. The templar nodded, and Anders turned on his heel and sprinted back in the direction of where he’d last seen Nathaniel. 

He had no idea how long he’d been running, or if he was even heading in the right direction. The trees allowed for only the thinnest streams of moonlight to filter through to the ground, leaving him with only a vague idea of where the trees were until he had nearly run into them. Each crack of twigs and leaves under his feet was as loud as thunder to him, the noise only dwarfed by the sound of his heart in his ears. He stumbled to a stop, leaning against a tree as he sucked breaths into lungs that seemed to have shrunk to half their original size. 

“Anders?”

Anders’ heart leapt into his mouth as he spun to face Nathaniel. Before he’d fully processed what he was seeing, he found himself enveloped in Nathaniel’s arms. He buried his face in the crook of Nathaniel’s neck and just breathed, wondering how he’d never noticed what a blessing it was to feel that pulse beneath his lips. Nathaniel’s arms tightened around him. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Anders lifted his head from Nathaniel’s shoulder and looked up, his breath hitching when their eyes met. “I’m fine. Are you?”

Nathaniel kissed him, simultaneously desperate and gentle. Anders thought his heart would break from joy at the sensation. “I’ve never been better. How did you escape?”

“We don’t have time,” Anders said, tucking a strand of hair behind Nathaniel’s ear. “They’ll know I’m missing by now.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Do you still want to infiltrate the tower?”

Anders made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “I’ve had my fill of templars for a while. For now, I’ll be happy staying as far away from them and that blighted tower as possible. Which, I suppose, means continuing our walking tour of Thedas.”

Nathaniel smiled. “I can think of worse ways to spend my time.”


End file.
